Third Wheel Tales
by Malachite
Summary: Poor, sweet little gay boy Oliver's life as a third wheel. Mostly a rant/introspective from his perspective right now. Maybe putting Jake in here as his love interest! Work in progress. Not really slash or yaoi yet.


Third Wheel Tales

Author: Malachite

Disclaimer: Not mine. Work in progress. Maybe some OOC-ness, I dunno. Haven't written a fic in a long time, so just trying this out. Feedback much appreciated.

"And then Daddy took me to Bendel's, and look at THIS!" Miley thrust her hand towards her friends' faces, wiggling two fingers decked out with crystal-encrusted rings, intricately crafted to look like flowers blooming on vines. "And wait until you see the special Hannah stuff we bought there!"

Lilly squealed and clapped her hands, while Oliver kept himself busy oohing and ahhing at the correct times. "That's so awesome! I heard it's the mecca of girly shopping! I wish I could've gone to New York with you!" Lily gushed.

"You betcha! Oh yeah, I picked up a necklace for you too. Look!" Miley thrust a brown-and-white striped box into her best friend's hands, resulting in more squealing.

While he kept up a smile and stream of compliments, Oliver had mostly checked out by then. It's not like he was going to get a present from a boutique pseudo-department store. It's not like he ever got any presents, ever, from anyone…

The girls were now fretting over the clasp on the necklace's chain being too loose. Time for him to save the day again. "You know, there's a new Henri Bendel shop at the mall…"

Before he even had time to say anything else, the girls vanished off, screaming something about girls' day of shopping. Sometimes one would backtrack and ask him to come. Other times he'd be dragged forcefully by his sleeve. This time neither of those things happened. He was getting more used to being the one left out of things. As the girls got older and girlier, he just didn't fit in with their escapades.

His role as the third wheel was almost cemented in life. He didn't really have the time to make new friends with the guys in school. By now they mostly ignored him anyways, as the cliques were just about permanent by this time. It seemed that whenever someone wanted to hang out with him, he already had plans with his two best friends. They'd get disappointed and not ask again. And yet here he was lonelier than anyone knew.

It wasn't like he went to bed crying about it or anything, though a few tears did come occasionally when it really got to him. It was more like a quiet despair. Being the happy, goofy, nice one drained him. He was the strong, supportive one. "But who's gonna support me?"

Sometimes he daydreamed about a guy friend. Or a boyfriend? He'd be happy with either he thought. Though probably most guys didn't really like to cuddle as much as he did. Perhaps it was the whole growing-up-with-girls thing, but he doubted that. It was just what he liked, what he felt inside. He wanted someone to hug him close and rub his back and tell him that everything was okay. That he wasn't alone. That he was special and loved.

He saw his two best friends constantly being showered with affection and adoration. He'd almost dare to call one of them spoiled.

He quietly obsessed over things. He'd learned that if he spoke up about certain things, he'd just get disappointed…or worse, hurt. Yeah, he wanted a cool messenger bag, but eye rolling and talk of purses had him keep that wish item to himself.

It was really tiring, keeping so much of himself under wraps. Or under chains really. And he didn't think he had enough of his own strength to throw off all those bindings that were around him. After all, he'd have to risk everything he had…and he wasn't a risk taker.

Give up his family and incredibly close friends for what was mere chance? Unknown possibilities? Ha, yeah right. Better safe than sorry was better.

But, maybe…if someone came into his life that let him be himself…he might find the strength to start showing others more of his true image. Or at least a little.

He was really tired of feeling unloved at his core. Yeah, he knew people loved him, but they didn't love all of him, just the shallowness that he showed. It was easier to be kind, or snarky, or easygoing, or even argumentative than it was to be wistfully romantic and heart achingly lonely.

He wanted a meaningful 'I love you'. He wanted someone to compliment his quirks, his ramblings, and his desires. He wanted someone who could support him and let him know that it was okay to not be scared, and that he did not have to hide.

It'd be nice to have someone real, in-the-flesh, in-person that he could talk to and not get quashed. . Someone who would understand the awesomeness of surfer butt being revealed by the low-slung board shorts worn by tanned dudes in line for snacks or whatever. But most of all, someone who would take his hand, squeeze it tightly and say "You have me." A promise to not leave. A promise of never giving looks of revulsion. A promise to not cringe away. A promise to not abandon and throw away what years had built.


End file.
